Episode 1.14: Dreamy

On a cloud in some non-denominational heaven, a student flyer by the name of Nova crashed to an awkward stop. Her mentor, the Blue Fairy, winced. "Now do you see why I told you to wear the helmet?"

"Sorry, Blue. I was doing fine until I almost crashed into that big-eared baby elephant. Besides, I wasn't expecting water vapor to be this hard." She gave the cloud an angry kick.

The Blue Fairy swatted her over the head with her wand. "No excuses! The dust you're carrying is worth over one million mana points, and powers all the magic in our land. Well, except that of Queen Regina. And Rumplestiltskin. And the Mad Hatter, and the Genie of Agrabah, and Lake Plotspeed, and everybody's lips, and—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Nova yawned. "Just out of curiosity, why are you sending something so valuable home with a newbie like me instead of just magicking it there with a 'bippity boppity boo'? Or at least getting me a My Little Pony to help with the heavy lifting?"

"It's called hazing," the Blue Fairy replied unapologetically. "Now, back to Talking Animal House, pledge, and no more lip!"

Resentfully, Nova flung a handful of dust at her the moment her back was turned. Unfortunately, she missed, and the pinch of glitter fluttered down, down, down, landing on a giant egg in the local dwarf hatchery.

The eggs' erstwhile daycare provider, Watchy, scrambled to the rescue. "No!" he cried, frantically scouring the glitter from the pristine white shell.

"What's wrong?" asked Watchy's boss, Bossy.

"Fairy dust is a violent teratogen! It curses its victims with romantic potential, and worse yet—" Watchy shuddered. "Sometimes it causes them to develop more than one personality trait."

"Poor sap," Bossy lamented. "Well, there's no sense crying over spilled mana. It looks like he's ready to hatch. Get me a nutcracker and the biggest receiving blanket you can find."

A bouncing, bald, bearded baby boy poked his head out of the glittering egg. "Yo."

"Welcome to beautiful British Columbia, dwarf."

At the only diner in Storybrooke, Leroy was ingesting something solid for a change. He devoured a boiled egg while thumbing idly through a National Geographic article on the phenomenon of cannibalism.

Mr. Clark and his friend Walter walked in, chattering excitedly about their plans to open a new Hi-Ho-Health pharmacy in town. "Hey, Leroy, could you do something considerate for us?"

"The bitter, angry sneer on my face would seem to indicate not." He sprinkled some pepper on his egg, causing Mr. Clark to sneeze all over it. He leveled a death glare at the pharmacist. "Dude, you run a drugstore! How freaking hard is it to get yourself some antihistamines?" Disgusted, he got up and abandoned his plate.

Clark sat down in front of it and picked up his fork, smirking triumphantly. "Heh heh. Stick with me, Walter, and you'll never pay for another meal in your life."

"Excuse me?" Mary Margaret walked in, smiling nervously. "Can I have your attention? Positive attention, that is, and not the scorn and revilement you've all been heaping on me lately?"

"Hell no," the entire crowd answered in perfect unison.

"Aw, come on!" she whined. "I'm trying to help a bunch of impoverished nuns with a holiday fundraiser, here. The only way my goals could possibly get any nobler would be to somehow work in saving a puppy from a burning building. And we already have Emma for that sort of thing."

Her pleas were met with the sound of chirping crickets. "Damn it, Archie," she grumbled under her breath, "you just had to bring those stupid things back to Storybrooke, didn't you?"

Leroy stood up. "Eminem, give it up. You're now at a point where earthworms, Mole People, and even I can look down on you."

Fighting back tears, Mary Margaret grabbed a Zoloft cupcake from the bar and ran off in bitter defeat.

"Hey, Mary Margaret?" Emma ventured, following her outside. "I don't really care, but as your bestie, I'm contractually obligated to ask what this Miners' Day thing you're so upset about is."

"What, seriously?" Mary Margaret's eyebrows shot up. "You've been here for how long, now, with your exposition fairy of a son hanging around, and you've somehow managed to remain ignorant of this town's most cherished holiday? What kind of public official are you?"

"The antisocial kind."

"Fair enough. Well, Miners' Day celebrates the anniversary of the completion of that 'Ave Maria' sequence from Disney's Fantasia."

"Why the hell would that warrant its own holiday?"

Mary Margaret shrugged. "Life's rough, here in Storybrooke, and we'll do just about anything for an excuse to get drunk. That's why we call it Miners' Day. The bartenders look the other way this one day out of the year and don't card any minors, and we're usually too drunk to spell properly. We'll usually sell some candles for the local convent in order to mitigate our guilt over this depraved practice, but nobody wants to help me with that this year, just because I'm a skank." She pouted.

"Huh," the sheriff mused. "I wonder why the townsfolk are placing all of the blame for this affair on you, the woman, instead of the two-timing man. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear there was something…medieval about their outlook." Listening behind a nearby door, Henry and August shared a victorious high-five. "Anyway, Mary Margaret, you don't have to do charity work to win people over. You're not a politician."

"Well, then, what do you suggest? That I pay everyone in town fifty bucks to start being nice to me again? Sic my army of bluebirds on them? Get Gold to stage an elaborate spectacle in which I come out looking heroic?"

"That…" said Emma, slowly and carefully, "or you could just quit giving a damn about the opinion of ignorant gossips who treat you like dirt."

"Oh, Emma!" Mary Margaret chuckled. "Thanks for saying that. I needed a good laugh."

In front of the Mayoral Lair, the good people of Storybrooke were setting up one beer tent after another. Leroy strolled by to see if there were any unattended kegs lying around, but got distracted when a maelstrom of fiery sparks rained down on his head. "Ah! The sky is falling!" he screamed, dropping into the duck-and-cover position.

The nun responsible gave him a queer look. "What are you, Chicken Little?"

"I don't think so," said Leroy, "although that would explain the strange feeling of kinship I felt to that egg I had for breakfast." He took his first good look at her and blushed furiously. "Uh, that is, of course not. If I were a storybook character, I see myself as more of a Prince Charming type."

"Well, you certainly couldn't do a worse job of it than David Nolan has been lately." The pair shared a brief giggle.

"So," said Leroy, "would you like me to take a look at old Sparky for you? I mean, I'm not injured, but if you'd dropped those sparks on someone with hair, you'd be looking at a major lawsuit."

"Sorry," the nun apologized. "I don't actually know anything about electronics. I just came up here to hide. That damn Sister Mary Clarence has been following me around singing jazz again."

"Well, if she gives you any more trouble, just let me know," Leroy offered, climbing up the ladder to check out the damage. "Smacking stuff into submission is both my greatest skill and my favorite pastime." He slammed a big meaty fist into the transformer, and it turned itself back on in sheer terror. "See?"

"Wow! You're awesome!" she squealed.

"Are you being sarcastic?" he asked warily.

"Does this look like the face of someone who's ever even heard of sarcasm?" The nun smiled angelically, and a beam of brilliant white light shone down on her from above.

"Oh, sorry, is that too bright?" Leroy gave the light another smack, and the halo faded.

"Ooh, you're so masterful," she gushed. "I'm single—uh, I mean, Astrid."

Leroy smiled shyly. "Nice meeting you, Astrid, but I've really got to get going. I'm running late for my job as Sylvester Stallone's stuntman."

"Oh?"

"Okay, fine, that was a lie," Leroy admitted. "Actually, I'm captain of my very own sailboat."

"Really?"

"N-no. I'm really a washed-up toilet scrubber who was recently featured on Dirty Jobs." He scowled, and a number of nearby plants withered and died in response. "Happy now?"

"Aw, come on," Astrid soothed, giving his hand an encouraging squeeze. "There's always hope. You've just got to climb every mountain, ford every stream, and follow every rainbow till you find your dream!" She handed him a pamphlet. "And maybe give Alcoholics Anonymous a try, too."

At the town line, Emma was taking a long, hard look at Kathryn's abandoned car. "What gives? Is this ditch filled with magnets or something?"

Sidney Glass popped out of a nearby ditch, a camera in one hand and a vigorously squirming Hefty bag in the other. "Emma? Fancy meeting you here."

"Sidney? What are you doing out here?"

"Nothing incriminating," he said, covertly shoving the body bag under a bush. "How about yourself?"

The sheriff made a pathetic attempt to hide the car behind her back. "Also nothing incriminating. Thank you for asking."

"Oh, will you come off it, Emma?" Sidney rolled his eyes. "This is obviously the work of David Nolan. Look," he pointed. "Who else would have spray painted a fugly windmill on the windshield?"

"Er, maybe Don Quixote's in town?" she stammered lamely.

"Emma, why are you even trying to protect this guy in the first place? You barely know him, and he's repeatedly hurt and deceived your best friend."

"Yeah, but Henry says he's my dad, and the kid has this uncanny habit of being right about everything."

"Well, I can't argue with that," Sidney conceded. "Not after he successfully predicted every last one of this year's Oscar picks for me. But you've got to admit, this whole situation is fishier than an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet."

"Fine, fine!" Emma griped. "If you're going to make a federal case out of this silly little apparent murder, I'll go get a warrant for Kathryn's phone records and get on the case."

Sidney was shocked and appalled. "Emma, are you seriously planning on conducting your investigation through the proper legal channels?"

"Well, I am a cop and everything…"

He slapped her hard across the face. "Snap out of it, Swan!"

She shook herself abruptly. "Whew, thanks for snapping me out of that, homie. I don't know what came over me." She handed him a wad of cash. "Here, go bribe that info out of the first stool pigeon you can find and score me some black market Cuban cigars with whatever's left."

David's pickup came rolling up next to them, and Emma steeled herself. "All right, time to break this bit of delicate news to the grieving widower." She grimaced. "Let's hope I haven't inherited my daddy's tact, or lack thereof."

"Emma, you don't seriously believe this guy's innocent? Here all this time I thought you were smart."

"Look, if there's one thing I've learned in all my years as a Perry Mason viewer, it's the unquestionable innocence of the most obvious suspect."

Bossy took a pair of scissors to the newly-hatched minor miner. "Hold still while I nab a lock of beard for your baby book."

"I'm a baby?"

"And a dwarf."

"Aren't I a little tall to be either of those things?"

"Yeah, but what are ya gonna do?"

"And why did I just hatch from an egg?" the newborn dwarf babbled on. "I have hair. Aren't I a mammal?"

"Er…yes and no?"

"And where did the egg come from? Whoever laid it must have been huge!"

"Well, I—"

"And who are you? Are you my daddy?"

"No."

"My agent?"

"No!"

"Captain Jack Sparrow?"

"NO!" He swatted the balding baby over the head with the handle of a pickaxe. "Now shut up or I'm using the pointy end next time!"

"Meanie," the newborn pouted. "I'm telling my girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" scoffed Bossy. "Dwarves don't have girlfriends. Have you taken a good look in the mirror lately?"

"Oh. Well, then, who do we flirt and argue over the position of the toilet seat with?"

"Runaway princesses, mostly."

'That sounds lame."

"Well, don't worry. You won't have much time for socializing, what with all the slave labor you're going to be performing," chirped Bossy, clamping a set of shackles on the hatchling's ankles and dragging him off to the chain gang to join the rest of the child laborers.

The newborn was getting suspicious. "Are you sure this is legal? Is there a phone around here? I'd like to call OSHA and—"

Bossy raised his pickaxe menacingly. "What did I tell you about asking questions?"

The baby cowered. "Sorry, sir."

"Good boy." He turned to address the rest of the octuplets. "Allow me to welcome you all to the Blue Industries family. There's no medical insurance or 401k, but we do offer complimentary whistling lessons to all our valued employees. Now line up and get your pickaxes, everyone. You'll find your dwarf name on the shaft, your Elvish name on the handle grip, and your Inuit name on the hilt. But just ignore those last two."

He tossed an axe to the first dwarf. "Doc," the handle read. "Congratulations, doctor," said Bossy. "You are now overqualified for every job in this place." He took the pick out of Doc's hand and replaced it with a check. "Here, take your severance pay and get down to Ye Olde Unemployment Office."

"Aw, come on!" Doc whined. "Let me stay and I promise I'll dumb it down. I can drool! I can watch reality TV! I can even yodel! Here, listen—"

Looking pained, Bossy held up a hand to stop him. "I'll let you stay if you promise never to subject me to that particular talent."

"Resplendent! Uh, I mean, cool, dude." He shuffled off nervously.

The next dwarf in line came forward. "Dopey," his axe read. Dopey glared. "Hey, man, this is very offensive."

Bossy shrugged. "Yeah, but on the other hand, would you rather go through life with a name like 'Developmentally Disabled the Dwarf'? Everyone would probably end up calling you DeeDee."

The dwarf moved along. "Dopey it is."

A third dwarf stepped up to the plate. "Dreamy," he read. "Well, I guess the axe never lies," he gloated, preening in a nearby mirror.

"Actually, I think it means dreamy in the context of someone who dreams a lot, not dreamy in the context of someone who's charming and sexy," Bossy whispered.

"Oh." Crestfallen, Dreamy stood aside.

"What's with all the adjectives?" the next dwarf in line inquired. "If these tools are really such experts on names, why haven't they got any normal ones, like Bob or Phil, in their repertoire?"

"A smart mouth, huh?" sneered Bossy. "Well, we have ways of dealing with your kind." He took out a Sharpie and scrawled the name "Bashful" on the troublemaker's pickaxe.

Bashful opened his mouth to protest, but was overcome by a wave of crippling social anxiety.

"Heh heh!" cackled Bossy. "Next, please." He handed an axe to the next dwarf.

"Happy?" Happy frowned. "You know, this puts a lot of pressure on me to be upbeat. I'm not sure that's healthy."

Bossy handed him a bottle of Prozac. "Shut up, Happy, and remember to do it with a smile!" he barked.

"Yes sir," Happy plastered a numb grin on his face.

Another dwarf stepped up to the plate. "Sneezy?" he read in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me. My defining character trait is an allergic reaction? This has to be the weakest virtue name ever conceived! The Puritans would be disgusted!"

"Hey, you want to trade?" Dopey challenged.

"Er, on second thought, Sneezy's fine," Sneezy said meekly.

"Sleepy," read a seventh dwarf. "Hey, you know what would be cool? If my middle name was 'Hollow'!"

"Dwarves don't have middle names," Bossy replied. "Just like we don't have babes, labor unions, or barbers."

Dismayed at the prospect of a life without love, rights, or style, the eighth dwarf tried to sneak off into the shadows. Bossy grabbed him by the shoulder. "And just where do you think you're going, Stealthy?"

"Uh, to get a head start on my lifetime of eternal toil?" Stealthy fibbed.

"Damn right you are." Bossy cracked a bullwhip. "All right, boys, move out. Today is the first triple shift of the rest of your lives!"

Mary Margaret sat at a table in the Volunteer Center, composing a letter. "Dear Mother Superior, I'm afraid I must respectfully decline your request that I get my adulterous butt out of this fundraiser and quit scaring off all your potential customers and volunteers. I'm on a sacred quest to increase my popularity, and if that ends up costing you and the other nuns your home and place of worship, well, that a price I'm willing to pay-" She paused, glancing up. "Leroy? I suppose you've come to heckle me some more?"

Leroy was annoyed. "I have a life outside of heckling people."

"Do not."

"Well, I'm trying to develop one!" he snapped. "I thought maybe helping with this fundraiser would be a good first step."

"Sorry," said Mary Margaret, "but this is a mission of Christian charity. Repentant sinners have no place here."

"What, you mean like adulteresses who prey on the severely mentally ill?" Leroy retorted.

Mary Margaret sighed. "Fine, you're in, but I get to treat you like garbage."

"Sweet!"

On the other side of the room, the Mother Superior was gaping at Astrid in disbelief. "So…let me get this straight. You accidentally ordered a hundred and forty four tanks of helium?" She shook her head incredulously. "Accidentally? How does that even work?"

Astrid shrugged, sheepish. "I don't know, but somehow I found a way."

The Mother Superior clasped her hands in prayer, glancing skyward. "Oh, how do you solve a problem like Astrid?"

"Same way you solve a problem like Maria," Leroy interjected. "Kick her out of the convent and marry her off to some old grouch." He grinned suggestively. "If you have trouble finding one, I just happen to be single."

"Thanks for the advice, Leroy," said the Mother Superior, "but I'd rather she just got our rent money back before we end up in hock to Gold. I hear he has a habit of tying up and kidnapping his debtors, and I'm not into that sort of thing." She took off, shuddering violently.

"I couldn't help overhearing your dilemma," said Leroy to Astrid. "I was wondering, why don't you just recoup your losses by reselling the helium?"

"I wish I could," Astrid replied with a heavy heart, "but it's too late for that. All one hundred and forty-four canisters were stolen and inhaled last night by our local Alvin and the Chipmunks fan club."

"Rats! Well, do you have anything else you could sell?"

"Just the candles for the fundraiser, and getting people around here to buy them is a joke. All the money in town belongs to Gold, and if you try to sell him anything, he just releases the hounds."

"Oh." Leroy considered the situation for a minute, a sly smile slowly creeping across his face. "Well, if you need somewhere to crash after you get evicted, you're welcome to come stay at my place. I only have one bed, but I don't mind sharing."

"That's sweet of you, Leroy," said Astrid, still oblivious. "But if we get evicted, I'll just leave Storybrooke"

"Leave Storybrooke?" the drunk repeated, clutching his head in pain and confusion. "Is that physically possible?"

"I guess I'll find out."

"Over my dead body!" thundered Leroy. "Or yours. Yeah, probably yours."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I'm going to sell all your candles, lose ten pounds, and travel around the world in eighty days!" the drunk proclaimed grandly.

Astrid giggled. "You're full of hot air. I love that in a man."

Back at the crash site, David was crying like a newborn who'd been stuffed in a closet. "My wife is gone without a trace? Wow, I guess you really do have to be careful what you wish for. This is all so shocking!"

"Shocking, you say? Would you be willing to repeat that with a lie detector hooked up to one hand and a Bible under the other?" Emma challenged.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," David vowed solemnly.

"I believe you, then." The sheriff breathed a sigh of relief. "It's a good thing, too. I wasn't looking forward to telling Henry that yet another of his relatives had become a jailbird."

In the bleak, black mines of the land organized labor forgot, Dreamy the Dwarf was shoveling rocks into a surprisingly sophisticated pre-industrial machine. "Look down, look down, don't look 'em in the eye. Look down, look down. You're here until you die," he sang despondently.

At the other end of the fairy dust dispenser, Nova was filling her LL Bean backpack. "Ugh, I can't believe I wasted four years on that stupid Fey Studies degree, only to end up as a delivery girl. I should have gone pre-med like my mom wanted." She tugged at the off switch with her wimpy little arms. "Or maybe majored in physical education." A flood of sparkles poured out over her. "Great, now I look like Rumplestiltskin's long-lost love child! Damn it, I could really use a big strong man right about now."

Dreamy, having overheard her plight, presented himself for duty. "I'm two of those three things. Will I do?"

Nova looked him over with a low whistle. "Mm, I'll say!"

"Hey, I know you," Dreamy realized. "I saw your face once upon a dream."

Nova giggled. "You stole that line from Prince Philip, but I like you enough to overlook that for now."

"No, I mean literally. It was during my evolutionarily impossible birth last year—"

"You're one?!" Nova shrieked in horror. "Ew, I'm a pedophile!"

"I don't think it counts as pedophilia when the guy has wrinkles and a beard," Dreamy pointed out. "But you've got bigger problems to deal with right now. Our surprisingly sophisticated pre-industrial machine is trying to eat your bag of fairy dust."

Nova looked up at the bag, which was hurtling toward a fiery furnace, with mild disinterest. "Eh, big deal. Fairy dust is made of diamonds, which are made of carbon in tight covalent bonds that can't melt. Worst case scenario is that the bag it's in will burn away and I'll have to carry it home in a dustpan.

"Oh. That's too bad," said Dreamy, "because a minor crisis like that really would have brought us closer together."

Nova brightened. "Well, when you put it that way…" She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. "Oh no! My precious dust is in jeopardy and I'm not ambitious enough to simply fly up and retrieve it! Oh, if only some moderately-sized strong man was willing to come to my aid."

"Dreamy to the rescue!" The dwarf leapt onto the conveyor belt, dodged a couple of dueling Jedi, glanced over his shoulder to make sure Nova was watching, performed a couple of cartwheels for her amusement, then finally grabbed the dust and carried it back down to her. "Here, baby."

"I suck at being a fairy," Nova lamented tearfully. "Tinkerbell's never going to let me hear the end of this."

"You're welcome," Dreamy prodded.

"And my social skills are terrible, too! I don't know what ever possessed me to think mentoring would be a practical career choice for me."

"Aw, don't be so hard on yourself," the dwarf soothed. "You'll get your big break eventually. You've just got to climb every mountain, ford every stream and follow every rainbow till you find your dream."

"Catchy. My name's Nova, by the way. It can mean both 'newbie' and 'catastrophic explosion'. How apt is that?"

"I'm Dreamy." Dreamy preened. "In the charming and sexy sense, as well as the dream-prone sense."

"Nice to meet you, Dreamy. Tell me, have you ever seen been to see the fireflies?"

"Naw." He gestured at her translucent insectoid wings. "Honestly, you're the closest thing to a fly that I've ever seen. And I mean that as a compliment, of course."

Nova's face lit up like the sky at Cinderella's wedding. "Then it's a date?"

"A date? Why would I want a date? I hate dried fruit."

"No, I mean—oh, forget it," sighed Nova. "I guess this is what comes of falling for a one-year-old.

At the Miners' Day festival, Mary Margaret and Leroy sat hocking their wares to the most judgmental passersby of all time. "Buy a candle made by Storybrooke's very own Order of St. Jiminy? Come on, I know you can hear me!" She decided to try a different approach. "Hey, lady! Buy a candle or I'm going after your husband next!"

Leroy yawned. "Eminem, give it up. You're about as forceful as a teddy bear on Xanax."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Yeah. We can go door to door with a carton of eggs and tell people to buy a damn candle or we'll bombard their homes."

At another booth, Sidney was playing a rousing game of ring toss. "Score! I'm strong as ten regular men, definitely. Hey, could someone get a picture of my big win and send it to Regina?" He noticed Emma approaching. "Uh, to intimidate her with my fearsome prowess."

"What the hell are you doing?" Emma hissed, hauling him aside by one ear.

"Ow! I'm taking a five minute break from scheming for once in my life. Deal with it!" He slapped her hand away. "What gives? Nothing scandalous has happened, I hope?"

Emma just stared at him. "Since when?"

Seeing that he was laying it on too thick, Sidney backtracked. "Since I've been enjoying my break so much. But you're right, it's time to get back to business. Bring on the scandal."

"Well, I just got off the phone with Kathryn's law school. She's either dead, or disillusioned to discover it wasn't the bastion of integrity she imagined, because she never registered."

Mary Margaret and Leroy ran by, toting several dozen eggs and some cans of shaving cream. "Emma! Do you think I look more sympathetic with or without this scarlet letter on my dress?"

"Definitely without."

"Thanks, homie!" She tossed the letter aside and scampered off, surly sidekick in tow.

"Uh, Emma?" Sidney spoke up gently. "I don't want to tell you how to do your job or anything, but shouldn't you be hauling her in for questioning instead of giving her fashion tips?"

"Look, I know Mary Margaret's the last person Kathryn was seen with, that they came to blows in front of a large crowd, and she had every reason to want her dead. But she's my roomie, and if she goes to jail, I'll have to make the rent by myself."

Meanwhile, Snow White and the Seven Deadly Sins had taken their show on the road, to no avail. "Hello, we're selling candles for Miners' Day, because we're just that cool," said Mary Margaret proudly.

"Buy one or eat albumen!" barked Leroy, brandishing an egg.

As the door slammed shut in their faces for the umpteenth time, Leroy hurled his egg at it. "Tee hee!" he giggled. "Something about broken eggshell takes me right back to my childhood."

At a little bar called the Snuggly Duckling, Dreamy and his brothers sat drinking, poking each other, and giggling. The bartended eyed them with suspicion. "Are you sure you guys are over twenty-one?"

"For the last time, yes," eight voices shouted defensively.

Bossy sat down next to Dreamy. "Why aren't you eating? A well-fed slave is a productive slave."

"I don't know," said Dreamy, perplexed. "My lips have this crazy urge to plaster themselves against Nova's, instead of sucking down beer. Maybe I'm coming down with a touch of anorexia?"

"Oh, it's much worse than that," said a very drunk, very lovelorn Belle from the neighboring table. "You're in love, homie."

"That's impossible," scoffed Bossy. "Dwarves aren't supposed to fall in love."

"Yeah, yeah, neither are Dark Ones, but life's funny that way," she grumbled, chugging yet another beer.

"You too, huh?" said Dreamy. "So, this love thing, will it go away on its own, or do I have to take antibiotics?"

She gave him a friendly pat on the back. "Aw, don't worry. Love is lots of fun when it's not for a paranoid satanic weirdo with an inferiority complex the size of Monstro.

"I don't know. I'm not enjoying it much so far. It feels kind of like food poisoning."

"That'll clear right up if you spend some time with your girl. Have you considered locking her in a dungeon for a little while? It worked like a charm on me."

"I don't have a dungeon."

"Well, then, try asking her for a date."

Dreamy groaned. "Look, I'll tell you what I told her when she brought that up. I hate dried fruit and I always will!"

"Man, you're dense." Laughing, Belle took out her dictionary. "Here, take a look at the second definition of the word 'date'."

"'An engagement to go out socially with another person, often out of romantic interest,'" Dreamy read. "Well, that explains a lot."

"Glad I could help. Now go get her, tiger."

At the Volunteer Center, Sister Astrid was dropping stuff on the floor, as usual. Leroy smiled dreamily. "If you ask me, sister, what you need is a nice guy with a broom to follow you around." He brandished his dust mop gallantly.

Astrid giggled. "My hero."

Mary Margaret slapped him upside the head. "Can you just tell her before I throw up, please?"

"Tell me what?"

Leroy shuffled nervously. "Well, the thing is…I sold all your candles, lost ten pounds, and I'm still working on getting passage around the world in eighty days."

Astrid flung her arms around her knight in shining overalls. "Oh, Leroy, I love you…r ingenuity and resolve."

Leroy went weak in the knees. "I am so going to hell for this, and it's totally worth it," he mumbled.

"What?"

"Er, nothing, my casual acquaintance."

Mary Margaret hauled him aside. "Why the hell did you do that?"

"I don't like upsetting people."

"Since when?! Leroy, I don't know if you've taken third grade arithmetic, but a thousand candles equals five thousand dollars."

"Huh. Five bucks per candle? What a gyp. No wonder they weren't selling. Well, don't worry. I have a plan."

"Let's hear it."

"We plant a beanstalk, climb it, and capture ourselves a golden goose."

"Are you drunk?" Mary Margaret hissed.

"Obviously. Give me a few hours to sober up and I'll think of something better."

The reluctant adulteress buried her face in her hands and groaned. "I never thought I'd say this, but I miss the old Leroy, who didn't give a damn about anyone but Jack Daniels. What happened to him?"

"Uh, I saw a WWJD bumper sticker this morning and it really spoke to me," Leroy lied, his eyes drifting back to Astrid as though magnetized.

At that, Mary Margaret finally bumped. "Ew! Leroy! Falling in love with an off-the-market hottie? That's disgusting even for you!"

Leroy stuck out his hand. "Hello, Pot. My name is Kettle. You're looking awfully black today."

"Shut up!"

"For the record," Leroy defended, "I'm pretty sure my silent and undemanding love for Astrid is a more ethical motive than your shallow quest for popularity. Face it, Eminem, you've been ousted as protagonist for now. Step aside gracefully and let me have a turn."

"Fine," sulked Mary Margaret. "If you insist, then your first task will be to get the five grand with resorting to larceny or drug trafficking. Good luck with that."

Dreamy raced up a wooded hill, huffing and puffing. "Whew, this love thing is definitely going to hurt in the morning," he panted. He looked around for his girl. "Nova?"

The fairy crept out of her hiding place in the underbrush. "Yo."

"What were you doing in there?"

"Playing it cool," she replied.

Dreamy peered over the mountainside. "Wow, are those the fireflies?"

"Uh, no, those are rocks, honey." Nova pointed. "Those are the fireflies over there, see? The little Cajun dudes?"

"Oh." Dreamy's cheeks reddened. "Sorry, I don't get out much. Don't get me wrong, I'd like to, but Bossy said he'd hobble me if I ever tried."

"Yeah, Blue likes to threaten me with the loss of important appendages, too. Aren't parents the worst?" Nova and Dreamy shared a giggle, wearing twin blushes.

"Say, Nova?" Dreamy ventured timidly. "I know this is a little forward, but I don't want to end up a miserable, angst-riddled drunk like that Belle chick. Wanna elope?"

Nova pondered the question. "Hm. Throw away my very promising career for an uncertain future with a one-year-old I've known for less than a day? To decide whether or not it's worth the trouble, I'm going to have to know how a good of a kisser you are." She gave him an experimental smooch, pulling back in a daze. "Wow. Okay, elopement's on. Just give me twenty four hours to drop off the fairy dust and pick up some lingerie."

"Score! Anything for you, baby."

Down at the docks, Leroy, having abandoned all regard for his own safety, was trying to make a business deal with Gold. "Now, I know this little sailboat of mine may not look like much, but she has a great deal of historical value. She was once crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil Hell itself spat him back out."

"Liar," snorted Gold.

"All right, fine, I bought it from Desmond Hume," Leroy confessed. "But can you give me the five grand anyway?"

"Why the hell should I?"

"Because I'm in love?"

"Ugh. Fair warning, talk of love has a tendency to make me smash things."

Leroy sighed. "Fine, let me rephrase. It's to help the nuns. I'm trying to do something noble for once in my life. Surely an honorable and virtuous man like yourself can understand that?"

Gold burst out laughing. "Oh, Leroy, I know we've had our differences, but you really crack me up!"

"Hey, I was serious."

"Oh, man! That's even funnier!" Gold fell on the ground, wheezing with laughter, tears pouring down his face.

Leroy's shoulders slumped. "Is that a no?"

"Actually, it was more of a 'hell no!'" chuckled Gold, clambering to his feet. "Leroy, my good man, someday in the not-too-distant future, you're going to see the irony in your support of those serial homewreckers." Gold wandered off, still giggling under his breath.

Sister Astrid approached the pier tentatively. "Uh, is he okay?"

Leroy shrugged. "Who cares?"

"I'm a nun, so unfortunately I have to care about everyone." She smiled shyly. "But in your case, it's less of a chore. Here, I baked you a pie."

"Oh Astrid," he said tenderly, "I love…pie."

She sighed dreamily. "And I love…uh, your boat. Speaking of which, why is said boat stuffed with candles?"

"Because I'm shipping them to the regional Amazon warehouse for processing?" Leroy fibbed.

Astrid was aghast. "Leroy, have you been lying to a nun? That's so sinful even Hell would spit you back out!"

The drunk winced. "Hypothetically speaking, if I told you I did it because I'm hot for you, would that mitigate things or just make them worse?"

"There's no right answer to that question, so I'm just going to walk away in uncomfortable silence now, okay?" Astrid backed away slowly and carefully.

Emma stood in her office, poring over photos of the crash site. "Jeez, this is a lot tougher than I was expecting. When I became a small-town sheriff, I assumed my duties would consist of giving parking tickets and fishing with Opie, not investigating murders and sex scandals." She glanced up at the sound of her alleged sidekick entering the room. "Sidney? Found any dirt, or lack thereof?"

He grinned and held out a bundle of phone records. "Life is a restaurant and I'm your maître d', my friend. Check it out," he pointed at one of the pages, "there's a call between Kathryn and David the day she disappeared. And as we all know, it's a very short leap from phone conversation to murder."

"Impossible. David said he didn't call her and my superpower would have told me if he was lying."

"The human lie detector thing?" Sidney sniggered. "You don't seriously believe that, do you? I thought you just made that up to scare Henry."

"It's never failed me so far!"

Sidney laughed even harder. "Sure it hasn't, honey."

Mary Margaret sat at the only diner in town, drowning her sorrows in Jägermeister. "It's funny, but something about the word Jägermeister always makes me think of my old friend, Graham."

At the counter, Ruby shivered. "Something about the word Jägermeister always makes me think of fleeing."

Leroy walked in and joined them. "Something about the word Jägermeister always makes me think of pink elephants on parade." He grabbed the bottle out of Ruby's hands. "And I need them now more than ever."

"Uh oh. I take it your stint as protagonist isn't going well?" She took a long swig of whiskey with a Zoloft cupcake chaser. "You know, you were right the first time. We should just give up any attempts at morality and go live with the Mole People. At least then we'd have someone to look down on."

Dreamy tried to sneak past his sleeping brothers, which should have been a breeze, given the volume of their snoring, but alas, Little Brother was watching. "Trying to usurp my title, Dreamy?" Stealthy called out.

The other dwarves rolled out of their beds. "You're leaving us without even saying goodbye?" Doc accused.

"Yeah, but I have a good excuse. I met some chick the other day and she means way more to me than any of you."

Stealthy was confused. "But won't you miss all the cheap booze and slave labor?"

"Hell no." The other dwarves stared at him in disbelief. "You'll understand someday when you go through puberty."

Sneezy retrieved his brother's pickaxe and offered it to him. "Well, it's a dog-eat-dog world out there. Take this, you'll be needing a job sooner or later."

"Actually, I've decided to take up piracy," Dreamy explained. "I've already started the paperwork. Some guy named Ragetti has even applied to be my sidekick."

"Well, good luck, homie. Sounds like you're gonna need it."

One group hug later, Dreamy was skipping through the woods. "I'm getting hooked up in the morning! Ding dong, the score is gonna chime!"

"I don't think so, young man," chided Bossy.

"Bossy? How did you know where, when, and why I was going?"

"There's a tracking chip implanted under your skin and surveillance equipment in every nook and cranny of your dorm," Bossy explained nonchalantly. "Now then, about this love business. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but it's just a scam invented by Hallmark."

"That's a damn lie!" roared Dreamy.

"Technically, it's a half-truth," said the Blue Fairy, fluttering down.

"Ah!" screamed Dreamy, swinging a big stick at her. "That's got to be the biggest mosquito I've ever seen! Bossy, get the Raid!"

"Hey!" the fairy protested indignantly. "I'm not a mosquito, I'm a fairy."

"Really?" He looked her over curiously. "If you and Nova are both fairies, why are you so much smaller than her?"

"Because the little klutz accidentally zapped me with a shrinking spell," grumbled Blue. "I'm still working on a cure. But we're here to talk about your problems, not mine." She placed a tiny hand on his shoulder. "Dreamy, my boy, I don't think you've thought this through. Why would any man want to be traveling the world with a beautiful woman who loves him when he could be toiling mindlessly in a dank, dark hole?"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, and I live with Dopey."

The fairy's face hardened. "I didn't want to stoop to this, but you leave me no choice. Dump Nova, or I'm having her arrested for statutory rape."

Some hours later, Leroy and Mary Margaret were sprawled on Granny's floor, surrounded by empty whiskey bottles and cupcake wrappers. "Hey, Leroy? About you and Astrid…I'm not particularly well-versed in the tenets of Catholicism, but I'm pretty sure stealing Jesus' woman goes against them."

"I have no intention of putting the moves on someone who's not free to accept them," snapped Leroy. "I'm not a cad like you."

"Well, keep it that way, because scarlet letters don't wash off easily," Mary Margaret warned.

"Eminem, I think you've already used up your lifetime quota of whining, so knock it off before my ears start to bleed." It was a sad day for children everywhere when Grumpy had to tell Snow White to be more upbeat.

"But I need some way to cope with my problems, and I'm afraid I'll die of alcohol poisoning if I drink any more Jägermeister."

Leroy grinned "Then let me introduce you to a little thing called violence."

Leroy crept to the edge of a rooftop overlooking the Miners' Day Festival. "Time to kick some bulb!" he crowed.

"Leroy!" cried Mary Margaret, rushing to his side. "Don't jump! You've got so much to live for!" Leroy just stared at her. "All right, that was a lie, but you do have that Netflix membership you'll never get to use if you die."

"Are you serious?" said Leroy incredulously. "This house is only two stories high. What kind of an idiot tries to commit suicide by jumping off a two story house? Only the kind who wants both a heartache and a headache."

Mary Margaret reddened. "Sorry, but you've got to admit, it looked pretty suspicious, you climbing to the edge of the roof after that spiel about how drunk and depressed you are…"

Leroy ignored her, breaking out a chainsaw. Mary Margaret yelped. "Ah! Where did you get that?"

"Swiped it off of your roomie."

"What for?" She tensed. "You're not going to cut out my heart and give it to the mayor, are you?"

"No. I'm selling candles, Mafia-style!" He whacked a nearby transformer with his stolen chainsaw. "Leroy SMASH!"

Darkness fell over the crowd below. "Leroy, are you crazy?"

"Yeah, but what are ya gonna do?"

Dreamy found his girlfriend up on Makeout Point, thumbing through a book of carpet samples. "Hey, Dreamy, you're just in time. What do you think would look best in our new master bedroom? Turquoise Lake or Autumn Leaves?"

"Our what?"

"Oh, that's right, I haven't showed you our sweet new ride yet." She pointed at a ship moored near the beach. "I swiped it from a dude named Barbossa. It's got cruise control, a GPS, and a king-sized Sleep Number bed. What should I set your side to?"

"Forty-five- I mean, nothing, I can't go with you." Dreamy amended.

"What?" Nova's lower lip quivered. "You're serious? But already had our babies' names picked out!" she sobbed, using the skirts of her tutu as a handkerchief.

"Face it, Nova, I'm just not the romantic type. True Love is for the sexy."

"That's not true. What about Beauty and the Beast?"

"I have it on good authority that that story didn't end as well as the media has reported. Besides," Dreamy scoffed weakly, "everyone knows that love is just a scam invented by Hallmark."

Nova grew suspicious. "Those are the Bluest words I've ever heard. What did that little serial homewrecker say to you? And how did she even know about us? If that little meddler's been reading my diary again, so help me, I'm going to take that wand of hers and shove it where the fairy dust doesn't shine!" the fairy fumed.

"Wow, you're beautiful when you're angry," Dreamy whispered in awe.

Nova, sadly, was too busy bawling to hear him. "Dreamy, I love you more than raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens put together! Don't you feel the same?"

"Nova, I'm not going to lie to you." There was a long, pregnant silence. "So bye."'

Down in the bowels of the earth, or whatever planet the Enchanted Forest was located on, the dwarven miners were hard at work, as always. "Swing low, sweet chariot, a-comin' for t'carry me home! A band of angels comin' after me, a-comin' for t'carry me home!" they sang woefully.

Bossy cracked his whip across their backs. "Wrong song, little punks! You know what I wanna hear!"

"Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go," they droned without enthusiasm.

"Constantly," Stealthy muttered under his breath.

Dreamy walked in looking like a kicked dog. "Hey guys. I've come crawling back like the pathetic loser I am, and I'd appreciate it if you'd all be cool enough not to draw attention to it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Bossy, hiding a smirk. "Welcome back."

"No place I'd rather be, except prancing through the flowers with Nova, or sailing to Neverland with Nova, or snuggling in a king-sized Sleep Number bed with Nova." That in mind, he took out a propaganda poster of the Blue Fairy, taped it to the nearest rock, and beat it with his axe until both the axe and its target were reduced to a pile of dust.

"Aw, man, that axe was only a week away from retirement," Bossy lamented. "Oh well. You win some, you lose some." He tossed Dreamy another axe.

A new name appeared on the handle of the tool. "Grumpy?" The newly-rechristened Grumpy groaned. "There's no way I'll be able to twist that around into meaning charming and sexy."

At the Glow-in-the-Dark Miners' Festival, Mary Margaret broke into a rather disturbing victory dance. "We did it! We sold them all! We're the baddest vandals since the sacking of Rome!"

Leroy cleared his throat pointedly. "Ahem?"

"All right, fine," she conceded. "You did it, you sold them all, and you're the baddest vandal since the sacking of Rome." She handed him a slip of paper. "And I've put that in writing for you to show Astrid." She prodded him gently. "Come on, don't be shy. You obviously talked to her once tonight already, to sell her that candle she's holding."

"True." Leroy steeled himself. "Thanks for the pep talk, Eminem." He approached Astrid holding the cash box. "Here you are! Five grand in small, unmarked bills, with my heart thrown in as a bonus." He froze. "Whoops, did I say that out loud?"

Luckily, Astrid hadn't heard anything after "five grand". "You sold them all?"

"Well, I can't take all the credit. Mary Margaret helped out by going around and taking the batteries out of all the emergency flashlights," Leroy demurred. "You're welcome again. By the way, since you love 'my boat' so much, maybe we could get together on it sometime in a totally platonic way?"

"It's a dat—er, an appointment for the two of us to go out together socially," Astrid saved. Trying to change the subject, she gestured at the sea of candlelight around them. "Wow, this is almost as beautiful as a swarm of luminous insects."

"Not to me. Candlelight vigils are one of the few things in this world that can make me cry."

Emma was in her office looking over the phone(y) records when Regina barged in, as usual. "If this is about the blackout, Regina, my friend Mary Margaret was involved, so I won't be investigating it."

"About that little habit of yours," said Regina. "It's really starting to hamper the search for Kathryn. Have you found her yet?"

"No."

"How about now?"

"No."

"How about now?"

"No!"

"How about now?"

"Regina! Get out of my office, or I'm going to track down my chainsaw and decapitate you with it!" Emma exploded.

The mayor unleashed her mighty Glare of Evil. "Sucking at your job was strike one. Threatening me with a chainsaw was strike two. One more strike and you're out…by my curb, in pieces, in a Hefty bag. Capisce?"

As she stormed out, the sheriff turned to a photograph on her desk. "Graham, baby, call me crazy, but I'm starting to think your mysterious death wasn't an accident."

Back at the party, Mary Margaret put up a sign reading "Sold out by Saint Eminem and her sidekick Leroy," then headed to her car. Noticing the word "TRAMP" still emblazoned on her windows, she was impressed. "Wow, this is the most durable paint I've ever seen. I must find the person responsible and ask them what brand they used."

She turned around and headed back to the party, where she was approached by Granny Lucas. "It was me, it was Dupont, and I'm sorry," she said succinctly.

Watching his girl from a distance, David sighed adoringly. "Mm, she's so cute when she's strutting."

Emma came up to him, handcuffs in hand. "David, will you quit mooning? It's really grossing me out."

"No can do."

"Would it change you mind if I told you that you had the right to remain silent?" She broke out a pair of handcuffs and hauled him off to her squad car. "You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford one, you're screwed, because there's no way in hell Gold is working pro-bono. Do you understand these rights?"

David shook his head. "I don't understand much lately, and this is no exception."

"Sorry, homie, but I'm not fond of Hefty bags." Emma shoved him in the car and drove off.

Mary Margaret watched them with concern. "Wow. Either my bestie just arrested my man candy, or they're doing some very detailed role-playing. I'm not sure which scenario scares me more."